Technicolor Feelings
by CampionSayn
Summary: A TW/PG adopted plot bunny. Timberwolf suffers an injury alone in the dark... Dedicated to Malisis'sMoons. One-shot.


Title: Technicolor Feelings.  
Disclaimer: I do not earn Legion of upper Heroes. I make no profit from writing this. I just enjoy toying with the characters.  
Summary: An adopted plot bunny based on Malisis'sMoons suggestion in the Plot Bunny Adoption Center Forum. Basically, Timberwolf suffers an injury alone in the dark and…read to find out. TW/PG pairing.

Warning: This takes place sometime in season one, considering that's the only season I've seen. I don't have cable or satellite, so…yeah. Oh, and also, blood, mentions of violence and, well, sappy affection.

* * *

Silver. The color of the sharp, angry feeling wires trapping him in place as he struggles under the branches of some alien tree. The cold of the metal stings in the now open veins of both of his wrists, one of his ankles, the joint of his knee and his neck, which he's trying not to move at all for fear of it cutting deeper into his throat.

Red. His blood soaks his tattered clothing and even the parts of it that lay a few feet away in the dark ruby footprints and claw marks he's left on the ground from struggling so hard for the last half hour. He's finding that, though he used to like the color, he now hates it, wishing he could make the color slipping out of him at a steady trickle cease to exist. He's near sure now that he himself will cease to exist, would it be so bad for the color to leave first?

Grey. His father lost sight of him before he got captured by the snares, but one way or another he knows that he won't make it out of here alive. He's lost too much blood and the moon of this planet is bathing the forest in its own color to mingle with his.

Black. That's what blood looks like on his grey fur as he looks down at himself. It's hard for him to breath and he tries to listen for something, someone to come for him. Perhaps another hunter to put him out of his misery. Perhaps his father in a vague hope that the cruel man still gave a damn about him. Perhaps anyone in the Legion. He wasn't going to hope for too much, but he could at least hope for a noise from an animal to assure him that he wouldn't die completely alone.

Yellow. His eyes are glazing over as a heavy feeling is starting to settle into him. His chest is burning from all of his own blood coating inside his lungs and he's feeling numb at the tips of his fingers and toes. Everything else is just…heavy.

Dark blue. He hears the puddles from the rainstorm two days ago clapping and splashing up as swift feet hurry through the woods towards his location. He hears a voice, too; sweet and crisp and worried, calling out his name desperately. Absently, he is surprised that this is the one voice he has come to really appreciate and know. His favorite voice in the world. Favorite sound in all the universe.

Light and dark purple. The leaves scattered from the wind, dropped from the trees above them crunched under the weight of who had come to rescue him. He gave out the only sound he could with the snare gripping near his voice box. A low whine or growl, he can't distinguish, but it doesn't matter. The water stops splashing up and the dead leaves stop crunching for a second and he has the power to give out another whine/growl, this one slightly lesser than the previous as his strength was giving out. His rescuer still heard it though, and the leaves shot out everywhere as they used their flight ring and created a small breeze, heading in his exact direction.

White. The first thing he sees in his dimming vision is her cape as she flies, first passed him, then back as she sees him under the thick branches, in the mud, arms and legs in opposite directions at awkward angles because of the snares, on his back and staring up at her. She looks to him like some lost soul as she swoops down immediately and lands right next to him, with locks of her hair tickling his face. It assures him that he is still living because of her feather light touches and panicked words echoing how happy she was to find him at all.

Bluish grey. Lips peck at his cheeks and then his own cracking lips for a little longer and then she gently-gently-gently holds first one hand, then the other, then both his legs and finally his neck and he finds that he is free from the bindings and she is using that angel white cape to bandage him. She tears it into long, but thick pieces and binds his wounds with tenderness he never thought he would get in his lifetime. He tries to tell her not to worry, they're just scratches, but he can't. He keeps coughing up blood.

Gold. When she's done bandaging him, she slithers behind him and contacts their friends to come and get them and quickly or she'll be even more pissed than she already is. She receives the reply that they'll be at that exact location in ten minutes at the most. She says to make it seven. He smiles.

Cream. Her cheek rests on his shoulder as she moves him to lie against her chest sitting up, his back facing her as she hugs him from behind and they wait. He can feel her sobbing and finds he doesn't like it. As he turns, he puts her in his lap and hugs her so her face is pressed to his chest, rather than his shoulder. She's still crying, but he finds that he is too, just barely, so he doesn't tell her to stop. He knows how she feels or thinks he knows. She may feel now what he felt when she had to assist in getting them all out of the Phantom Zone. He'd felt horrible when he didn't see her and felt unexpected joy when she came into focus, claiming nausea. He couldn't imagine why she would feel that way for him, though.

Surreal grey. Her eyes look into his and she says, "I was so worried. I thought I…I thought you were…You can't imagine how worried I was, Brin."

Ashen white. That one strip of his hair falls over her shoulder as he leans in and rests his forehead against hers, their noses touching and speaks calmly, but with little breaks here and there, "Tinya…I'm h-here now…no need…to worry…"


End file.
